


Fire In His Belly

by akelios



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Comfort, Feeding, Kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Left to his own devices Harry would only eat a quick sandwich or a can of Spaghetti-O's, drink a beer or a Coke and then collapse into bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire In His Belly

Carpenter brought him back, battered and exhausted. He always came home wiped out when he'd been working with the Knight. Something about Carpenter caused Harry to expend more energy protecting the man than he did protecting himself.

Harry grinned and stumbled up the front steps and through the door, past me and on into the bowels of the house. Carpenter and I glared at each other for another second before I turned and very deliberately shut the door in his face. He was a nice enough man, I supposed, but he put Harry in danger and I could not forgive him for that.

After all, Harry got into more danger on his own than any normal man should be able to survive. He didn't need any help.

I didn't rush to search for my wayward wizard. He was a man of habits and patterns. He would make his way upstairs to the bedroom, secure his weapons and drop his duster over a chair. Harry would clean up a bit, wash off any blood or monster fluid and then head back down into the kitchen. So that's where I went, to wait for him.

By the time Harry padded barefoot through the kitchen door I had the table covered in food and was pulling his beer out of the refrigerator. I took Mac's ale warm, the way he had intended.

"You are a saint." He took the beer from my hand and tilted it back; his long, pale throat extended, working as he swallowed. A little tension sighed out of him and he sat, scooting the chair closer as he set the bottle down and reached for a piece of cake.

"Ah." I reached out and gently took hold of his wrist. "You know better Harry. You need protein and carbs, not empty sugar first off." I held up the bowl of banana slices I'd put in front of his place.

Harry rolled his eyes at me but leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Whatever you say, dear." And then he stuck out his tongue at me.

I pulled my own chair over next to him and sat. Harry opened his mouth just slightly and waited, watching. Like I said, patterns and habits. We did this dance every time he came home from a big fight. Every time he came home and didn't have to be put on an intravenous drip that is.

I picked one slice of banana out of the bowl and leaned forward, resting it lightly on his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue brushed it with a breath, and then again, deliberately. Harry just barely moved his head and his lips parted just enough to take the slice and wrap delicately around my fingers. Coy, almost as though it was an accident.

He took the slice, his tongue playing across the pads of my fingers, up along the inner edge and then around, cleaning them. His lips were dry but soft and I shivered, just a little. Harry pulled back, lips still trailing over my skin, and then off with a tiny slick little 'pop'. He chewed, slowly, deliberately and watched my eyes the entire time. I returned the gaze, desire kindling in his dark eyes as I picked up another slice and held it out, waiting.

~

Later, after Harry had eaten and long after we'd turned seduction into reality we lay in bed. He was well and truly passed out, flat on his back, arms and legs flopped every way without care. His head was turned toward me, hair tousled and mouth open in sleep, the picture of sated abandon.

I lay beside him, curled against his side, and stroked my hand over the skin of his stomach. I had my own patterns - start at the hip, sharp jut of bone under smooth skin and strong muscle, then down his thigh, thin yet strong. Even if you didn't know, looking at him would tell you that he was a runner. Back up the inner thigh. If he was awake this would be the action that led to other distractions, but as deeply asleep as he was I could continue unimpeded back up his leg and on to my goal, his stomach.

It was just my imagination, I knew, but I thought I could feel the heat there. Feel the magic of his biology turning everything he'd eaten into potentially earth shattering magic. Sucking out all the nutrients and igniting them; flickers of the fire that he favoured, perhaps, burning in there and then travelling out through his veins, reaching each of his limbs, replenishing him and strengthening him.

I sat up and moved down, laying my head on his hip. His stomach was just a little rounded, too full. Left to his own devices Harry would only eat a quick sandwich or a can of Spaghetti-O's, drink a beer or a Coke and then collapse into bed. I took great pleasure in making sure that Harry took care of himself, even when I had to do it for him.


End file.
